


I Got a Fever, and the Only Prescription Is More Hugging

by chaostheorem



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheorem/pseuds/chaostheorem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is an expert on hugging. Eames is an expert at hugging. It's a match made in heaven, or at least it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Got a Fever, and the Only Prescription Is More Hugging

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [Fluff Meme, Round 3](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/243220.html)  
> Beta: [eternalsojourn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn)

Arthur considered himself an excellent judge of hugs. A connoisseur, if you will.

He didn’t _choose_ to be fascinated by hugs. He didn’t wake up one day and think, “My new hobby’s going to be watching people hug.” That would just be creepy.

He blamed his grandparents. Well, his grandpa, to be exact.

Grandma held him the same way every time: she pulled him as close as possible, wrapped her arms around him, said something about him being too skinny, and rocked him from side to side.

Grandpa preferred handshakes, and Arthur was okay with that, because Grandpa was kind of scary. Not threatening, just...imposing. But then Arthur was leaving for the military, and Grandpa pulled him into a full body embrace and tucked his chin into Arthur’s shoulder. It was the first time Arthur had wanted to melt into a hug.

After that, Arthur began to take notice of how people hugged. He still wasn’t too fond of the act himself, but he enjoyed cataloging the different types.

There was the classic greeting or departing hug that only lasted a second or two but was generally enjoyable for both parties.

The one-arm hug was mostly used by two guys to say _I like you, but not that much_.

The bear hug was a fun one, because there was almost always a clear ‘hugger’ and ‘huggee’ with those.

The awkward hug, where people try to touch as little of each as possible, was the most common. People leaned in with their shoulders and arms, sticking their lower halves out. Arthur could never figure out how this was supposed to be _less_ awkward than a classic hug.

The comforting hug was, unsurprisingly, comforting. Lots of soothing, petting, and cradling.

The list went on and on, but suffice it to say, Arthur knew hugs, which was why he felt confident in proclaiming that Eames gave the world’s best hugs.

\--

The first time Arthur got a hug from Eames was at Dom and Mal’s wedding. As the best man, Arthur was standing next to them in the receiving line. He was technically supposed to be in front of them, but there had been some confusion while lining up, and Arthur had ended up as the last person in line. It made him decidedly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to bother Dom and Mal with it when it was so clearly the last thing on their minds.

Arthur was shaking hands with one of Dom’s aunts when he heard Eames greet Dom and Mal.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Eames said, sweeping Mal into his arms.

Arthur stared. It wasn’t that he thought Eames would give bad hugs; he just wasn’t expecting him to be _so_ good. It looked completely natural for Eames to be holding Mal close, both of them clearly comfortable in the embrace. By rights, it should have been awkward with her brand new husband right next to them, but it wasn’t. At all.

Eames stepped back and right into a hug with Dom. Dom clapped Eames on the back a few times, and Eames gripped Dom with closed fists instead of open palms. The hug suited them perfectly – open and warm while maintaining just the right distance.

Eames turned to Arthur, and Arthur was once again reminded that he was in the wrong place. He was supposed to be with the rest of the wedding party, where people just shook hands and didn’t have to decide between giving a pity hug or an self-conscious handshake.

Arthur decided to be proactive. “Mr. Eames,” he greeted, sticking his hand out.

Eames grinned. “Don’t I get a hug, Arthur? It is a special day, after all.”

Eames didn’t wait for a response, just wrapped his arms around Arthur, and god, this was not pity. Eames was warm around him, not holding anything back but not trying to force anything either. His palms were open, one resting against a shoulder blade and the other against the flat of Arthur’s back. It was the best hug Arthur had ever had.

 _Jesus,_ Arthur thought, _did he take lessons as a child? How is it even possible to be so good at this?_

Eames smiled gently and walked away as soon as they broke apart. Arthur opened his mouth to say... he wasn’t sure what, but _something_ , but Dom’s stern great aunt Martha started clutching at him before he could say anything. He could still feel Eames’s arms around him, though. Could still smell him.

And just like that, Arthur was addicted.

\--

At first, Arthur was content just to watch Eames. The only problem was that Eames didn’t seem to hug that many people. Any people, really.

Arthur tried to put Eames and his ability out of his mind, but it was hard to do when he spent so much time in airports, watching people greet loved ones and acquaintances. Judging hugs used to be an indulgence, a game, but after the wedding, Arthur couldn’t help but think about Eames whenever he saw one.

He tried to convince himself that he must have imagined Eames’s prowess, but he was too logical and his memory too good for that to work.

A few months after the wedding, Arthur saw his chance to rid himself of what he’d started calling ‘The Eames Delusion.’ Mal and Dom were giving a lecture at the University of Chicago, and they had asked Arthur and Eames to join them. Eames was only in town for two days, but it just so happened that one of those days was January 21 - National Hug Day.

Arthur waited until they were all together before he said anything. It wouldn’t do to be too conspicuous.

“Here’s a bit of odd trivia:” Arthur said as they waited for a table for dinner, “Today is National Hug Day.”

“Is it?” Eames asked interestedly from next to him.

Arthur nodded twice, hoping he looked indifferent, as if he really was just sharing a fun fact with friends and not trying to bait Eames.

“Well, it would be a shame to let it pass uncelebrated,” Eames said, holding his arms out.

Arthur waited until he saw Dom and Mal snuggling up to each other before he turned to face Eames fully. The next minute was crucial, either proving that he had misjudged Eames’s talent or satisfying Arthur’s obsession.

Eames clasped a hand around Arthur’s neck and drew him in. This wasn’t like the hug at the wedding at all. It was so much _better_. Eames’s hand was still around Arthur’s neck, his other arm looping around Arthur’s waist and slanting up so that his hand rested against the middle of Arthur’s back, holding them close.

As an expert, Arthur knew he had a few more seconds before things became awkward. Arthur took a deep breath and let his eyes fall close for a second, just enjoying the strength of Eames’s embrace, then let his arms drop and stepped back, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“What a cheerful holiday,” Mal said, and they all agreed.

When Arthur got back to his hotel after dinner, the first thing he saw was the note he’d made about National Hug Day. He ripped it into tiny little pieces, and then fell face first onto his bed and groaned into his pillow.

He was so screwed.

\--

Arthur’s ploys grew more ridiculous over the years, until he wasn’t even searching for hugs so much as any physical contact with Eames.

Standing close on a crowded train to conserve space.

Peer pressure. Everyone else was hugging. It would have been weird not to.

Huddled together for warmth.

The first International Free Hugs Month, and any subsequent ones they were in the same area during.

Mal’s funeral didn’t count. Arthur actually needed that one.

Drunken stumbling.

Sparring.

Things might have continued on like this forever if Eames hadn’t told Ariadne about the Edwards job.

Arthur had just returned with lunch when he heard Ariadne say disbelievingly, “Arthur? You’re telling me that _Arthur_ , fearless point man Arthur, is terrified of ventriloquist dummies?”

“Cripplingly so,” Eames said.

Ariadne shook her head. “I don’t believe it. They’re creepy, yes, but Arthur would never let it interfere with a job.”

“I swear to you, he saw the projection and he froze.”

“What happened?” Ariadne asked.

“I dragged the projection into an alley and shot him,” Eames said, matter-of-fact. He turned to look at Arthur, sending him a friendly smirk. “Saved the day, right, darling?”

Arthur crossed the room and set the food down on the table. “As always, Mr. Eames,” he said, but it came out far less sarcastic than he’d intended. Arthur busied himself divvying up the food.

“Are you really frightened by ventriloquist dolls?” Ariadne asked.

Arthur eyed Ariadne warily. “Why? You don’t own one, do you?”

“No. It’s just...They’re so harmless.”

“We all have irrational fears,” Arthur said. “Like Eames and worms.”

“It’s true,” Eames agreed when Ariadne looked at him. “I can’t stand the slimy buggers.”

Ariadne, still smiling, shook her head. “How am I supposed to take you guys seriously now?”

“Don’t make too big a fuss, Ariadne,” Eames said cheerfully. “We don’t want Arthur murdering us in our sleep.”

“We die in dreams all the time,” Ariadne said dismissively.

“I didn’t say anything about dreams.”

Ariadne turned to Arthur to share an exasperated look at Eames’s antics, but Arthur slowly dragged a finger across his neck to mime decapitation, then held the finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

Ariadne threw her head back. “How is this my life?” she called plaintively to the ceiling, and Arthur and Eames laughed.

They finished lunch and got back to work, but Arthur’s thoughts were stuck on a way to both get close to Eames and exact some merited revenge.

Arthur walked up behind Eames and leaned down to whisper into Eames’s ear, “There’s something we need to discuss. Tonight, after Ariadne leaves.” Arthur rested his hand gently on Eames’s back as he pressed a note there.

Eames turned to look at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes, brow furrowed, but he nodded, not saying anything.

“Good,” Arthur said, giving Eames two quick pats on the back in supposed solidarity, actually just ensuring the paper was firmly attached.

Arthur went back to work, waiting for Eames to find the note. Ariadne almost gave the game away when she barked out a laugh when she saw it, but she was a quick thinker and a fair actress, and she convinced Eames that she was laughing at a funny text from a friend. Arthur winked at her when Eames went back to work.

Eames got up to use the bathroom, and Arthur had to hide his smile until Eames closed the door. A full minute passed before Arthur heard Eames’s yell of amused indignation.

Eames walked out, an incredulous look on his face. “I-” he started, looking at Arthur, then stopped and read from the paper. “‘Throw a worm at me!’” Eames glanced up. “Arthur,” he said in mock disappointment.

Ariadne burst into laughter, and Arthur couldn’t help but join her. Eames kept up the act for a few more seconds before he started chuckling as well.

“Well played,” he said to Arthur.

Arthur bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment.

Eames sat on the edge of Arthur’s desk. “Do you actually need to talk to me about something?” he asked, lowering his voice so Ariadne couldn’t hear.

“No,” Arthur said, still smiling.

Eames stared down at him, terrifyingly serious but for the fond glint in his eyes. “Have dinner with me.”

Arthur nodded, rolling with the non sequitur. “Yeah, sure. What were you thinking?”

“No,” Eames said sharply. “I mean a real dinner. A date.”

Arthur slumped back in chair, shocked. “A date?”

“Yes. It’s long overdue.”

“Agreed,” Arthur said.

“Then it’s settled,” Eames said, grinning. “Tonight.”

Arthur nodded and smiled back, a distant part of his mind recognizing that he was grinning so hard that he probably looked maniacal, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

\--

Arthur leaned against the counter, sipping his wine and watching Eames cook.

“Toss me an oven glove, would you?” Eames asked distractedly, stirring the sauce.

Arthur did as directed, taking the opportunity to enjoy the view of Eames bending over to pull the rolls from the oven.

Eames set the tray down and turned to Arthur. “Just a couple more minutes and then we’re ready, I promise.”

“No hurry,” Arthur said calmly. “I still can’t believe you’re cooking for me.”

“I am an excellent cook, as you are about to discover.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Mhmm. Just like you’re excellent at crocheting?”

“I was bored and that was an experiment. You can’t hold it against me,” Eames protested. “But no. Just like I’m excellent at hugging.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he disguised it as curiosity. “What makes you think you’re better than anyone else?”

Eames looked smug. “You can’t seem to get enough. Some of your excuses have been very inventive.”

“You knew?” Arthur exclaimed, horrified.

It was Eames’s turn to look surprised. “You thought I didn’t?”

“This is so embarrassing,” Arthur breathed.

Eames laughed. “I always wondered why you didn’t follow up and ask me out. Good thing I got tired of waiting.”

“You could have said something.”

Eames pulled Arthur into his arms. “I did.”

\--

There were a lot of great things about having Eames as a boyfriend. There was the sex, of course, but it was more than that. It was taking walks, watching movies and ripping apart the plot holes, sharing books, talking.

Another one of Arthur’s favorites: hugging for no other reason than _just because_.  



End file.
